


handle being kids

by kallliope



Category: Girls Like Girls - Hayley Kiyoko (Music Video), Gravel To Tempo - Hayley Kiyoko (Music Video)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, Homophobia, Lesbophobia, Popularity, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-20 08:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14257053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallliope/pseuds/kallliope
Summary: Blake Carson lives a life of charm, popularity, and warmth.In reality, it's a lot more complicated than that.





	1. gold inside my head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The backstory to Headphones Girl aka Blake.

The scent of rubber burned Blake's nostrils as she erased another failed equation. She looked up at the time and cursed internally: five minutes left. Mrs. Machalan paced in front of the whiteboard, her eyes sweeping the room for slackers. To Blake's right, Sienna toyed with a few strands of hair that had escaped from her ponytail and popped another bubble in her gum—watermelon, judging by the cloud of cloying sweetness around her. Shaking herself, Blake returned her gaze to her quiz, grimacing as she read the question for the umpteenth time.

_Approximate the value of the definite integral by using the Trapezoidal Rule and the Midpoint Riemann Sum respectively. Show sketches for evidence of work._

“Psst.” She felt a pen poke gently at her shoulder. “You need answers?”

Blake sighed, keeping her back firmly turned.

“C’mon, Blake, this isn’t time to whip out the honor code.”

Mrs. Machalan cleared her throat noisily as she walked closer to Blake’s desk. “Something urgent to discuss, Olivia?”

“No, Mrs. Machalan.” Olivia said cheerfully. “Blake just needed the date.”

Blake started to scribble out a haphazard answer, panic swelling up in her throat like a balloon. The girl who handed in her quiz first—blonde and jean-jacketed—scribbled into her journal, hand flying over the words without lifting her pencil once; she looked like the picture of contentment, something that Blake couldn’t understand. No panicked realization of a wrong answer, no struggling to remember questions, and certainly no sign of fear for a higher point standard. Blake wished for that kind of coolness in her classes; she learned confidence through navigating the social game, but never learned how to translate that into academics, something that stung her whenever she faced an assessment. 

All around her, shoes squeaked against linoleum as kids began to hand in their quizzes, sending her anxiety into overdrive. _Carry the numbers over to—wait no, that’s at the end—if only—_

The bell interrupted her thoughts with its familiar screech. Blake blew out a breath of resignation and stood up to hand in the quiz. A quick scan showed a pretty good picture of what red-inked grade she’d see in the top corner in a few days: an F that would engulf half of her paper.

“Machalan better clean the floor up for blood; that quiz just slaughtered all of us.” Sienna groaned as Blake finally joined her and Jasmine in the bustling hallway.

“Next time, trade seats with Blake. She’s no fun because she keeps _trying_.” Olivia whined, shouldering her bag like she just loaded it with bricks. “Which makes no sense, because I know for a fact that she’s an English whiz!”

Blake rolled her eyes. “Would you believe me if I said I like to keep my options open?”

“Nope,” Sienna said, snapping the _p_ of her _nope_ as she popped another gum bubble. “We know you better than that, sweetie, so cut the shit.”

Blake opened her mouth to reply, but spotted a set of familiar faces, and she smiled. Angie and Jasmine leaned against her locker, talking about—

“But he called me back this time!”

“Jaz, you’re just going to have your heart crushed again.” Angie replied patiently as Blake and the other girls arrived. “Girls, tell her that Jason needs to grow a pair and doesn’t deserve her.”

Jasmine squawked, smacking Angie’s shoulder. “Shout it to the world, won’t you?”

Angie’s lips twitched, her voice rising. “Was that a request?”

“Angie!”

“Jason Reyman needs to stay the hell away from Jaz or I’ll pound his little—ow!”

Jasmine clapped her manicured hand over Angie’s mouth, sending Blake and Sienna into hysterics. 

“We done here?” Olivia asked. The others nodded, Angie still snickering. “Good. ‘Cause I really want all of you to talk sense into Blake.”

“She still insisting on the independent math track?”

“Everyone’s got to get a kick to get those As. There’s no way to surviving that class alone.”

“I’m right here, you know.” Blake laughed. “And I’ll be fine. It was just this quiz that was hard.”

“Oh, that I can agree.” Angie nodded vigorously, sending her hoop earrings flying. “Couldn’t finish that last problem.”

“ _Thank you._ How did the Midpoint Riemann thing go again?”

Sienna held up her hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me; once I finish a calc quiz, studied content flies out my head.”

“Oh! I know which one you mean.” Jasmine exclaimed. “The one with the graphical evidence?”

Blake nodded. “Yeah, I probably got it wrong, but I got...”

“Thirty seven point three four.” An unfamiliar voice said curtly.

Blake turned her head to see the same blonde girl from her math class passing by. She opened her mouth to say _yes, exactly_ and _was that the answer,_ but Olivia beat her to it.

“No one asked, _Gayley_.” she sneered, her lip curling in disdain.

Blake’s eyebrows rose, but the mystery girl continued to go down the hallway completely unperturbed. When the girl finally turned the corner, Blake finally found her voice. “Oli, who was that?”

“That,” Olivia sniffed. “Was a stain that’s not worth your time. New students always irritate everyone, but a helpless gay one? Total pest.” 

“She only gave me the answer.” Blake said, feeling a twitch of annoyance in the back of her mind. “It’s not like she’s throwing herself at every girl she sees.”

Jasmine crossed her arms. “No, she’s not. She’s throwing herself at _us_ , and that’s a problem _._ ”

“Since when did being polite change into the same level as a make out session?” Blake argued. “Helping a classmate doesn’t scream ‘take me now’.”

“That’s ‘cause you don’t notice.” Olivia shuddered. “I caught her staring at me like a creep more than three times in Bio.” 

“I thought you liked gaining attention, Oli?” Angie said, poking her with a teasing grin.

“Not from the wrong gender!”

“All right, all right.” Sienna giggled. “The new girl’s attracted to us; take the compliment and move on, yeah? C’mon, we’re going to be late to sixth period.”

Sure enough, the hallway no longer reverberated with the chatter of kids and they all dispersed with promises to discuss weekend meetups. As she began to walk towards English, Blake chewed on her lip. She never expected Olivia of all people to spew hatred: Olivia, who stuck up for Sienna at parties, who shared banana floats with Blake when they went to the mall. It felt bizarre to see that same girl spitting venom in a stranger’s face. Olivia’s face of disgust flashed through Blake’s mind again and, for some reason, Blake felt an uncomfortable jolt in her stomach.

* * *

“So are you going or what?”

Jasmine’s voice pierced through the sounds of North Hollywood High on a Friday afternoon; the question carried over the slamming of lockers and the babbling laughter of students in the hallways, making Blake unable to ignore it. She sighed and turned to look at the other girl.

“Sorry, can’t. Homework’s weighing me down.”

Jasmine pouted. “But it’ll be fun! We’ll even ditch half the night for to Gravel’s if you want.”

“You don’t even like Gravel’s,” Blake said, as they made their way out of the school building. “And even if you said we’ll have fun, don’t we go there every Friday night?”

“You just wait ‘till we’re eighteen, girl.” Olivia said, poking Blake’s cheek teasingly. “We’ll drive down to San Diego where they have the best midnight bashes. Then we’ll _really_ have some fun. But back to the point; homecoming’s going to suck without you. You don’t want to be the mood killer of the night, do you?”

 

The question hung in the air like an innocent question, but Blake could hear the underlying threat. She picked at her cashmere sweater uneasily, feeling the blue fabric slide under her fingertips. “I’m not sure there’s anyone I want to go with, anyway.”

“Blake Carson, don’t tell me you think you’re undesirable.” Jasmine gasped. “And you don’t need a date! I’m going without one.”

“Yeah, but Jason’s going to ask you in two days, isn’t he?” Blake smirked as Jasmine squeaked in indignation. “Thought so.”

“I didn’t even say yes!”

“Oh, so he’s already asked you? Good to know.”

Jasmine huffed, running a self conscious hand through her shining curls. “You’re a menace, Carson.”

“You love me for it.”

“Nope. You’re out of the friend group now. Take your malicious, sassy remarks out of here.”

The next smile on Blake’s lips felt as fragile as cake crumbs. “Ok, ok, I’ll talk over it with my parents.”

“ _Yes!_ ” Jasmine shrieked and dashed away when the two minute bus warning call came over the loudspeakers. “Just you wait, Blake; you’re going to have the best homecoming of your life!”

Blake shook her head laughing as Jasmine boarded her bus, fingers already flying over her phone to inform the others.

“You’re going to homecoming?”

Blake blinked, finally taking note of a blonde girl leaning idly against one of the school walls. Jean jacket, hair tied in a ponytail, white sneakers—yup, definitely the smart one who handed in her calc test first and who gave Blake the quiz answer, for some reason.

“I don’t know.” Blake shrugged her shoulders. “Not much of a dance fan, to be honest.”

The mystery girl tilted her head. “No?”

Blake hesitated for a few seconds, before sighing in surrender. “I never learned.”

“Well, anyone can dance, you know.”

“Anyone with the _time_ ,” Blake amended. “What’s the point of trying when you’re on the failing line on one subject?”

_Great job, Carson._

Blonde girl’s eyes widened. “Failing?”

Blake bit her lip. She never talked about her grades with anyone as a rule; what got her in such an oversharing mood? Olivia would have shrieked at her social blunder. “Nothing. It’s...nothing.”

She walked past the girl quickly, heading for the car line. Her sister barely looked up from her phone as Blake slid into the waiting silver Lexus. Blake resolutely tried not to look out the window as the car’s engine purred to life.

“Why do you look like you’ve swallowed someone’s shit?” Blake’s sister bluntly asked, as she gripped the steering wheel with her perfectly manicured fingers.

“I do not.”

“Don’t give me that. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Heather.” Blake snapped. “Can’t you just drive us home without nosing around for once?”

Heather frowned, turning her head to glare at Blake. “God, loosen up, will you? It was just a fucking question.”

“Sure. It’s not like you won’t tell Mother at dinner.”

As soon as she said it, Blake felt a horrible twist inside her stomach. Heather’s face morphed and she leaned back like Blake slapped her. A prickly silence resided inside the car before Blake timidly spoke again.

“I’m sorry. That was over the line.”

“Goddamn right it was.” Heather said, her voice cracking at the end of her sentence.

Alarm bells started ringing in Blake’s head; the last time Heather’s voice cracked when she was driving, a tow truck was involved. She quickly steeled herself and plastered on an artificial smile. “Heather?”

“Blake.”

“Who do you think I should take to homecoming?”

Heather’s lips started to twitch upwards and her voice grew stronger. “Why?”

Blake gave an internal sigh of relief and felt her smile turning more genuine. “The rest of the girls want me to go with them, but I don’t have a date.”

“How’s Antonio?”

“Going with Olivia.”

“Logan?”

“Ditching.”

“Sienna?”

Blake shook her head in exasperated fondness. “Don’t want my hair to smell like bubblegum, thanks.”

“Are you saying you don’t already?”

“Hey!”

The rest of the car ride went by smoothly, but when Heather pulled up to the twisting iron gates with two-interlocking gold Cs, the twisting sensation in Blake’s stomach started to come back.

“Heather—”

“No. We agreed, remember? Tell Mother I’ll be late.”

Blake grimaced, getting out of the car. “She’s not going to like that.”

“Does she ever? Good luck, sis.” Heather replied, sliding on her aviators and turning the car away. Blake stood at the gates and watched the car drive away until it disappeared on the horizon.

The familiar buzz of the gates opening made Blake reluctantly turn and start the trek up the gravel path towards her house. She remembered when her father first showed it to her through a glossy magazine page, his face bright and eager for her reaction.

_“What do you think, Lakey? Doesn’t it look like a fairy tale?”_

In a way, it did. The house looked like the distant cousin of a French chateau, the grass around it neat and trimmed to a crisp finish. Delicate silk curtains fluttered behind wide arched windows, while a Grecian-style fountain gurgled in front of the house. Two small palm trees stood flanking the main door like sentinels.

Blake hated it.

“I’m home.” she called as soon as she closed the front door behind her. Her voice echoed in the enormous foyer, bouncing off the colorless walls and making the crystals on the chandelier sway against each other.

No one answered. Blake kicked off her sandals and walked up the spiral staircase, her bag banging against her hip.

“Heather’s coming late.” She called, to still no answer. Blake counted for three seconds before the sound of breaking glass broke the silence and angry voices filled the air.

“This is all your fault—”

“Me? I’m not the one who raised her like this—”

“At least I was there for her—”

Blake sighed and went to her room, shutting the door behind her. She sent a single text to her sister ( _they’re still at it_ ), unzipped her bag to pull out her earphones, and stuffed the buds in her ears. Blake scrolled through her songs and began to start on her English homework as Stevie Nicks’ _Edge of Seventeen_ echoed in her ears, drowning out the two angry voices that grew louder and louder in the next room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blake's last name is a reference to the poet Anne Carson. 
> 
> If you're having trouble discerning the girls, watch [ this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjIk07TcKDE). 
> 
> Come yell at me on my [tumblr](https://kaafka.tumblr.com).


	2. solidarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for: blood, accident, implied homophobia, neglectful parents.

It’s an established rule in the post-Apple society to never bother someone plugged into their phone. So of course, the boys of North Hollywood High disregarded this principle on a daily basis.

“Blake! Hey, Blake, over here!”

Blake quietly exhales instead of wincing; word gets out when any of the Top Clique looked anything less than perfect. She obediently tugged out her earphones and the soothing croons of Lana Del Rey quickly transformed into the booming baritones of Anthony Maurier’s groupies.

“Heard you needed some help with dancing?” The boy who made her come over leaned a bit too much into Blake’s personal space “I’m an excellent teacher, you know.”

Another boy, this one red haired and freckled, smacked him on the head. “Shut the hell up, Wright, you can’t even go on the field for two seconds without fumbling.”

“Dammit, you c—”

“Guys.” Anthony said calmly, stopping the good-natured scuffle. Blake hardly missed how the other boys’ heads swiveled to him as if under a spell. She remembered how Olivia once described—with a delighted shiver—that Anthony possessed an “totally dangerous aura”. Blake never talked to him much, but from how he exuded confidence in his lazy slump against the lockers, the casual slouch of his shoulders, she saw what Olivia meant.

Anthony’s gaze calmly assessed Blake once, then twice. Then he pushed himself off the lockers and sauntered forward, sending all the boys wolf-whistling.

“Fuckin’ get some, Maurier!” The redheaded boy hooted, drawing looks from all corners of the hallway.

Blake fidgeted, twisting her fingers into her fashionably frayed cardigan. Anthony just smirked and walked away, clearly expecting Blake to follow.

Arrogant son of a bitch.

Blake hated the way how her feet moved of her own accord, how she breezed past her friends with an apologetic smile. She saw how Sienna waved her hands in warning, how Angie tried to reach out to pull her into their little bubble, how Olivia’s eyes sparked with a distinct gleam of envy. Blake shook her head minutely before continuing to trail behind Anthony.

When Anthony suddenly stopped in his tracks, Blake crashed into his back.

“Jesus, Anthony, warn a girl next time?” Blake said, blowing her hair out of her face.

“You’re good at Lit, are you?”

Blake’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

Anthony sighed, kicking at the floor. “Your English class. I’ve heard that you’re literally Shakespeare there.”

“Well.” Blake said, blinking in surprise. “I wouldn’t say that. More like I’m decent at it.”

“Can you teach me?”

Blake started, not quite believing her ears. “Are—is that really all you needed to ask?”

“Yeah.”

She saw the tension in his shoulders, the unpleasant disappointment in his eyes, how he bit his lip uneasily. She recognized the habits of someone who kept secrets from flying out of them all too well.

“Four thirty. Mall food court. Don’t be late.”

* * *

From what Olivia told her, Anthony Maurier’s backpack only contained a pack of cigarettes, along with a broken leather watch of his father’s and a set of lock picks.

When Anthony unzipped his bag, Blake saw only a few candy wrappers, a set of dog-eared folders, and a pristine copy of _Giovanni’s Room._

“Where do we start?”

Blake shook her head, pulling her laptop closer to her and turning on her white noise playlist. “Depends on the teacher. Who do you have?”

“Hogue. She’s a pain in the ass though, won’t stop focusing on the context of the novel.”

“Mmm. We’ll have to prep you for timed writes, then. She loves springing them on her students a lot.”

“Bring it.”

The lesson went by a lot more smoothly than Blake expected, for a first-time tutoring session without previous warning. Mid-session, she sent a silent thank you to past her, who read the novel in one shot on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

“He’s in denial.”

“No, come on, everyone has those urges occasionally. And besides, he goes into more tangential prose when he describes the female characters.”

Blake tapped a pen to her lips in thought. “Yeah, but you could also say that’s self-censorship. You saw him panicking once he realized what he did with Joey. I’m putting my money on a case of internalized issues.”

“But,” Anthony said, folding and unfolding the edge of his book page. “He alienates his best friend after the incident, fucks off to the middle of nowhere Europe, gets a girlfriend, and prepares to marry her. That doesn’t sound like a person who’s confused about his attractions.”

Blake shook her head. “You forgot that the girl left him, which isn’t a good sign for your literary memory, since it’s on the very first page.”

Anthony flipped to the beginning of the book. His brown eyes widened. “Damn.”

“So, am I right, or am I right?”

“You’re an insufferable teacher, Carson.”

“I’ll take any thanks I’ll get.” Blake laughed, and Anthony started to smirk in amusement. His smirk grew into an alarming grin when he looked over her shoulder.

“I think we have a fan.”

Blake turned her head and the laugh froze on her lips. The blonde girl from Calculus sat two tables away, her head half-buried into a faded hoodie. A faint blush dusted her cheeks as she determinedly stared down at her phone, tapping furiously at the glowing surface.

“That’s the girl from your Calc class, right?”

“Yeah.” Blake said, looking away from the girl. “Wait, how’d you know about that?”

Anthony snorted. “You telling me I _couldn’t_ hear Olivia screaming about her that day? Even if I was halfway down the hallway?”

Blake winced. “I guess she could get...overexcited.”

“Understatement of the century. So, are we gonna analyze more or are we done here?”

“I think we should stop.” Blake said, carefully closing her laptop. “We’ve covered Chapter One enough, and you said that Hogue isn’t making you read this ‘till…?”

“Next week.”

“Wow, overachiever much?”

“I like to stay ahead.” Anthony shrugged, but Blake noted a new stiffness in his shoulders. “Want me to drive you home?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noted how the blonde girl’s fingers suddenly froze over her phone. After a few moments of silence, Blake gave a slow nod.

* * *

“Someone special in your life, Blake?”

Blake twirled the string thin linguini on her fork, watching the creamy strands cling to the stained metal. “No, Mother.”

Across the table, Blake’s father rustled his newspaper noisily. Mrs. Carson—a pale slip of a woman with auburn hair and movie star lips—cleared her throat.

“I saw you get out of his car before you entered. What’s his name?”

“Anthony Maurier.” Blake replied obediently. On her right, Heather looked intrigued.

“Maurier? Met one at a bonfire down in Santa Monica. Can’t say if he’s the same one, though.”

Blake’s mother raised her glass, arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow at her daughters. “Well, if he’s at one of _your_ parties, then he’s already gained so much respect in my book.”

Heather’s hands spasmed. Under the tablecloth, Blake put a hand on her sister’s shaking knee and Heather breathed in slowly.

“I didn’t host it, mother. I just drove there on a Friday to meet some friends there.”

“I’m sure.”

“ _Camilla_.” Mr. Carson warned, setting his newspaper down. “We talked about this.”

“Sorry, did I bother you, Arthur? Hit too close to home?”

“Everyone just—” Blake burst out, then looked down at her plate. “It’s not that big of a deal. He’s just a friend.”

A prickly silence descended over the dining table, only broken by her father’s voice.

“Are you sure, Blake? You’ve never showed interest in the boys at school before, let alone allow one to drive you home.”

“I’m sure.” Blake replied firmly, hand now clutching Heather’s knee hard. “Now can we please be excused?”

Mrs. Carson narrowed her eyes at Blake. “We?”

“Go on,” Mr. Carson said, flapping his hands at them—a bit pathetically, Blake noted with dismay. “We needed to have a private talk anyway.”

Once both of them hid in Blake’s bathroom and allowed the bath taps to cover their voices, Blake turned on her sister. “Spill.”

“You first. Most of the stuff about the Mauriers is so ridiculous, I can’t separate truth from lies. What was he like?”

Blake sat on the edge of the bathtub, feeling the cool porcelain against her legs. “Gonna have to be more specific.”

“Did you at least get to second base?”

Heather squealed as she got a faceful of bath water sprayed at her.

“Real funny, sis.” Blake grumbled.

“Oh come on, you didn’t fantasize about kissing him once? I heard all the girls in his grade think of nothing else.”

“Some of my friends rave about him.” Blake said with an indifferent shrug. “Don’t see the whole ‘bad boy appeal’ though. Really didn’t seem to fit him when we got to tutoring.”

“Wait,” Heather said, putting a hand on Blake’s arm. “Tutoring? You? Since when did you get qualified?”

Up close, Heather smelled like cotton candy and warm chocolate, a familiar scent that always hung around her now empty bedroom.

_Here, want mine? I’ve got tons of colored pairs, but those are my best._

Blake blinked furiously to keep the memories and the tears from spilling out.

“It helps when you get bored from reading new things. He asked me for help for English, so I tutored him.”

“How much?”

“Thirty.”

Heather whistled lowly. “Damn, aiming for the stars, aren’t you?”

“AP Lit isn’t a free-for-all; I’ve need _some_ sort of reward for surviving that class.”

“Well, kudos to you getting coin, then.”

Blake heard the tiniest tinge of bitterness in Heather’s voice. She slid closer to her sister, circling an arm around her shoulders. “How’s the house search going?”

Heather sighed, leaning her head on Blake’s own. “It’s done. Ever since they froze my cards and decimated my savings, I had to go around begging for help. Julie’s been great as always, but you know that. We decided last week, and we’ll move into the place soon.”

Blake swallowed, feeling a lump starting to grow in her throat. “Far away?”

“Not far.” Heather replied, reaching for Blake’s hand. “San Francisco’s only fifteen minutes away here, and we’re getting help from Julie’s mom. But come on, my life’s boring compared to the excitement you’ve got going on right now. Maurier, huh?”

A thousand questions sprung to Blake’s lips, but she bit them back with a tiny smile. “Yeah. He’s ok, I guess.”

“You guess, don’t you know? Wait—is it considered perverted if you ask your student to homecoming?”

“Heather!” Blake shrieked, shoving at her sister’s shoulder.

Heather grinned, holding up her hands up. “Hey, you started the whole tutoring thing, not me. But really, not even him? He’s better-looking than most of the pricks in your school.”

“I’ve seen better.”

Heather rolled her eyes in fond exasperation. “You’re really picky, you know that?”

“Hey, not all of us have the choices bisexuality brings.”

“You mean, the _crises_ it brings.” Heather said, flinging an arm around Blake’s shoulders. “You’ve no idea how many attractive people you see when you go to a party. Not to mention how to figure out if they’re attracted to _you._ ”

“But you did,” Blake pointed out, remembering—with a guilty jolt of her stomach—how the blonde girl in Calculus gazed, but never approached. “Look at you now.”

Heather scoffed. “Yeah, scrabbling for meal vouchers, having no board, greeting closed off parents. Any luck from them for the insurance money, by the way?”

Blake remembered the wailing of an ambulance, Heather’s body a mangle of blood and iron, her parents’ horrified faces when they saw Julie by the hospital bed, clutching Heather’s hand like a lifeline.

“No. They keep saying it’s not their responsibilities to fix a mess you made.”

“Mmm, didn’t think so.” Heather said. “And the car?”

Blake’s mouth twisted. “Brand new. They even gave it a wax down at the San Diego place.”

A crease formed between Heather’s eyebrows and she sighed. “Well, didn’t expect anything less.”

Blake knocked her bare legs against her sister’s, trying not to see how Heather’s ankles jerked as if on autopilot. “Least you’re out.”

Heather snickered. “In all senses of the word.”

Blake started to laugh loudly, loud enough to carry over the sound of water gushing into the now-overflowing bathtub. As Heather joined in with her loud guffaws, Blake tried not to think about that terrible night and how afterwards, no matter what Heather did, the Carsons refused to see her as their daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much Hayley featured in this one, I'm afraid, but I thought it would be nice to establish and expand Blake's universe a bit before we get the ball rolling. 
> 
> Come contact me on my [tumblr](https://kaafka.tumblr.com).


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